


A Dozen Denials

by WordsAblaze



Series: Witcher Fics [9]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel Needs a Hug (The Witcher), Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, Jaskier | Dandelion's A+ Parents, Jaskier | Dandelion's A+ Siblings, M/M, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Soulmates Gone Wrong, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, basically i'm mean and none of his family was kind to him sorry, canon? idk her, endgame jaskel, except for the ending, it's complicated - Freeform, jaskel, no beta we die like jaskier doesn't, that I can promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAblaze/pseuds/WordsAblaze
Summary: Soulmate-identifiers exist to make things easier unless you're Jaskier, who's equally as deep in love as he is in denial. But there's only so many excuses you can make to avoid the truth...aka: jaskier's soulmate is definitely a witcher, just not the one he first assumes
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Fics [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726360
Comments: 106
Kudos: 230





	1. soulmate's heartbeat on your wrist

**Author's Note:**

> okay so the jaskel discord is amazing because everyone is really talented and inspiring, and this fic is based on a convo that i kind of ran away with so shout out to the server <3  
> oh and heads up that while i do also love geraskier, this is a jaskel fic and geralt is kind of just there to fuel the angst, sorry ;)

The first time anyone thought something was wrong with Jaskier, he had no idea what they meant.

His mother told him he was too slow and he thought she meant with his studies, so he tried to learn everything there was to know about lineage and hierarchy and tradition. But she was never satisfied and Jaskier was just young enough to simply be confused.

His father told him he was too slow and he thought he meant in his training, so he tried to learn as much as he could about weapons and fighting and self-defence. But he wasn’t satisfied either and Jaskier soon felt disappointment mixing in with his confusion.

Jaskier’s confusion only continued as he grew.

Sometimes his siblings would take roughly his wrist and laugh. Or grimace, which was somehow much worse. And Jaskier would always snap back at them to just go away because that was his soulmate they were mocking and he wouldn’t stand for it, thank you very much.

Eventually, someone - the kind-hearted gardener who felt bad for him, of all people - explained that the rhythm he felt on his wrist was meant to be his soulmate’s heartbeat. 

That the second pulse he could feel was meant to be just like his own, an echo that proves the existence of the most important person in his life. 

And that his was too slow.

Suffice to say, Jaskier did his best to hide his wrists from anyone after finding that out. 

It wasn’t because he was embarrassed of his soulmate, he just felt oddly defensive about people declaring his matching half as monstrous or defective or occasionally, when people were feeling particularly cruel, dead.

So he took to hiding his hands behind his back or wearing clothes that distracted people from questioning his fate. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to pretend he wasn’t soothed by the slower melody of his soulmate’s existence but he was so tired of hearing the rumours that he was tied to someone only half-alive.

That is, until there was a local werewolf problem and Jaskier was introduced to the world of witchers.

Because, oh, don’t mutations perfectly explain a slow heartbeat?

Of course, he didn’t get a chance to talk to the witcher who’d helped them. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn more about them from forbidden books he could trade for, conspiratorial whispers during banquets, and passing travellers who helped him accept that his fate was just different, not wrong.

Which is why it was so easy for him to leave his family behind.

Well, it was actually a rather complicated and messy series of arguments, broken household items, and seething glares so sharp they rivalled a freshly-made sword. But one way or the other - and it was definitely the other - Jaskier managed to leave.

He ran and left his title, his status, his entire life behind.

The only thing he regretted was making his witcher suffer through the many times his own pulse had been racing so fast that he could barely tell each beat apart. It couldn’t have been pleasant, he assumed, for someone who was naturally used to a heartbeat so much slower. 

And then he finds Geralt.

Who doesn’t seem to hear his pulse racing as he says, “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.” But possibly that’s just Geralt being Geralt, Jaskier concludes after their very strange first conversation. 

It takes years but eventually, Geralt accepts his presence.

Jaskier is a fool of a romantic at heart and so obviously, he falls over himself in his haste to love.

In his defence, it’s absolutely logical for Geralt to be his soulmate. 

Geralt seems to be there to save him from his own misadventures or whichever creature has decided to try and eat him far too often for it to be coincidence - how else would he know when Jaskier might need a hand if he can’t hear his heartbeat?

And sure, there are times where Jaskier’s heart is racing and Geralt doesn’t comment on it, but he chalks that up to him trying to be supportive rather than focusing on whatever is troubling him. After all, Geralt is right - there’s no need to discuss Jaskier worrying about a performance because he hardly ever fails one.

“You seem oddly calm for someone who almost fell off a cliff,” Geralt comments one day, and Jaskier wants to laugh.

He wants to, but he can’t breathe because almost falling off a cliff had been one of the scariest moments of his life and his heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. He’s so shaken that it takes him a while to realise Geralt is simply trying to reassure him, probably waiting for him to realise he’s fine. 

“I’m still alive, right?” he manages eventually.

Geralt smiles - actually properly smiles - at him, and Jaskier knows he was right to assume Geralt cares for him. It’s pretty much a privilege to see the White Wolf smile and he’s grateful for it all the time.

As their fame increases, they’re invited to a banquet in Cintra.

It goes about as well as expected until it abruptly goes so, so much worse. 

Geralt starts talking about elves and Jaskier feels his pulse spike because doesn’t he know about Queen Calanthe and her history with them? Thankfully, Geralt must feel his panic because he looks over to Jaskier and, after a very long moment, changes the topic before revealing the truth.

And Jaskier is just grateful they’re soulmates. 

He can’t really fault Geralt for leaving Cintra without a backwards glance because Geralt and Destiny have a complicated relationship to say the least, so he just finds solace in the slow pulsing on his wrist.

In the knowledge that Geralt is waiting for him somewhere. 

And in the knowledge that Geralt so rarely panics even when things seem to be going wrong, which makes him an incredibly stable source of comfort. 

His family was absolutely wrong, Jaskier decides, to think that being destined for a witcher is akin to a curse; he’s never felt safer than when he’s with Geralt, than when he can feel his soulmate both within him and beside him.

_(little did he know he'd never actually been beside his soulmate.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the discord chat resulted in like half a dozen soulmate au themed ideas but i threw some more in the mix because i like writing angst so it's one soulmate trope per chapter - i'll try and finish more soon <3
> 
> thanks for reading! toss a kudos/comment?


	2. temperature compass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two is here !! again, shout out to discord for the idea as i wouldn't have normally used this soulmate trope :p

Jaskier travelled a lot.

He had to, he was a bard and travelling was simply part of the job description. 

But travelling meant getting used to the uncertainty of whether or not he’d find a receptive audience or an inn that provided baths or even a town to stay in before a storm arrived. Most importantly, travelling meant figuring out where his soulmate was.

It’d been other bards that had told him of how soulmates are meant to find warmth within each other and they’d sung tales of how people would end up shivering even on the warmest summer days if they were too far apart.

And Jaskier? Well, Jaskier tried to keep track of how warm or how cold he was.

At first he assumed his soulmate was in one place like most people's so he kept a note of which towns were warmer to him and which were colder. But he’d find the same town being both freezing and pleasantly warm during revisits and he soon lost hope in that strategy.

He knew from the very beginning that it couldn’t have been anyone in his hometown because he’d never felt warm there, so he had a good excuse never to return thanks to his soulmate.

Not that eliminating one place was much use when travelling the continent resulted in a strange, undecipherable pattern of hot and cold - it was always awkward when he’d spend the night with someone and have to leave before they woke up because he couldn’t stop shivering. 

It started to hurt eventually, singing ballads of romance and destiny and warmth when he could never truly shake the chills that practically lived in his spine.

Only once had Jaskier truly felt his heart heat up and he hates himself for barely being able to remember anything about it. 

It’d been nearing winter and he’d been making camp in a forest, which one he couldn’t tell you. It’d been dark and the dull crackle of thunder had settled overhead as he’d pulled a second blanket around his shoulders.

Just when it had started to rain and Jaskier had been regretting his life choices again, he’d felt the ghost of sunshine rush through him. And it was everything the stories promised. 

He’d so badly wanted to stay awake and bask in the newfound feeling of being content but the only reason he was outside in the first place was because he’d been in a stupid tavern brawl. Which meant that he was slightly drunk and utterly exhausted and totally unable to stay awake more than a few hours.

When he’d woken up, the warmth had faded.

Jaskier had searched the whole forest for days but he’d only made himself colder by doing so, and he’d quickly reverted to his usual lifestyle of travelling and hoping for the best.

He got used to being cold again and having to wear several layers of clothing to try and make up for it. Somehow, the lack of warmth felt worse once he knew what finding it could feel like.

And then he comes across Geralt.

Geralt, who never seems to be particularly warm to touch but sparks something inside Jaskier that makes up for it. And Jaskier begins to think that there must be different meanings of warmth because nobody had ever inspired him the way Geralt does. 

Singing about Geralt rekindles his urge to create music and surely there can’t be anything better for a bard than finding a constant, undying muse.

Curling up with Geralt during bad weather and pretending they only have one bedroll makes him feel safe and warm and happy and isn’t that exactly what all the stories mean anyway?

Reuniting with Geralt every spring is usually what gets him through winter and Jaskier decides that the renewal of his passion is all the heat he needs.

“Geralt, did you ever feel warmth before we met?” Jaskier asks randomly one night as they settle into the only bed the inn had been able to offer.

Geralt looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “Is that a trick question?”

Huffing, Jaskier shakes his head and tries again. “No. I mean… Did you ever make camp in a forest during a storm?”

There’s a moment of silence before Geralt nods. “Of course. You know most towns didn’t welcome me before you started singing.”

Jaskier grins and allows himself to bask in the praise for just a moment. “And did you ever feel like you were, you know, close to your soulmate?”

“Never bothered to think about it,” Geralt answers honestly, “so can we get some sleep now?”

But that isn’t a no.

And of course Geralt hadn’t paid much attention to it, he’d never even imagined himself capable of having a soulmate, unlike Jaskier, who’d been actively searching for his all the time. 

So even as he nods and curls closer to Geralt, Jaskier finds himself smiling at the thought of having once been so close to him before they’d officially met.

It feels oddly romantic to have glimpsed his future and he’s content with how his destiny had played out, even if he’d had to go through far too many cold, soulmate-less storms along the way.

It’s not even remotely a warm night but Geralt’s arm around his middle feels more than warm enough and Jaskier knows that, unlike so many times before, he won’t be woken in the middle of the night by rogue shivers. 

He knows that he’ll sleep well because he can’t be disturbed by his own teeth chattering when Geralt is there to ensure they’re both warm, and it feels amazing to finally have that guarantee.

And although Geralt’s mutations mean that being together is more for Jaskier’s benefit, it feels nice to know he’s also helping someone else get a good night’s rest without being interrupted by too low of a temperature. Even better than it’s a witcher he’s helping because heaven knows they deserve it after all their struggles.

It’s not like Jaskier can simply erase decades of cold words, cold nights, and cold attitudes, but helping even one witcher feels like he’s doing something to change things for the better and that feels right to him. 

And if that means he has a legitimate reason to fall asleep in his soulmate’s comfortable arms every night other than simply wanting to, well, you won’t hear him complaining because he's perfectly happy with that.

_ (little did he know he’d never even seen his soulmate’s arms.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're just going to pretend that me jumping back and forth in time for each chapter isn't messy, okay? ^.^
> 
> thanks for reading !! toss a kudos/comment?


	3. daily visions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi !! it's been a while since i've had any writing motivation and although this chapter could be better, it'll have to do :)
> 
> also, because it might not be clear, the trope is that you wake up everyday knowing one event of your soulmate's day - idk the official name and borrowed the title of 'visions' from clever discord amigos :p

Life on the path is unpredictable.

Jaskier knows this, but he also knows it isn’t strictly true.

He, like everyone else, wakes up each morning with Destiny having told him something his soulmate is going to do, something Geralt is going to do. 

And every morning, he tries to figure out how it applies to their plans and what he’s meant to do about it. He’d say what _they’re_ meant to do about it but Geralt is never particularly interested in any kind of prophecy. 

He rarely tells Jaskier what he sees but he must see glimpses of Jaskier's life because he's usually there when things go wrong in taverns or when he gets close to being mauled by a contract. And even if he sometimes has no clue what Jaskier has been upto during the day, it can't be held against him because he usually doesn't listen to Destiny and Jaskier needs to learn to take care of himself anyway. 

Which is fine.

His own so-called destined prophecies are a little vague anyway, and seemingly open to interpretation: he’d once woken up with a blinding fear that Geralt was going to fall off a cliff and spent the whole day panicking until Geralt made a mess of his conversation with a _Lord Cliff_ just before midnight.

So when he wakes up with the knowledge that someone is going to plant a curse on his soulmate, he’s not sure whether he should be worried.

“Hey, Geralt?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.

Geralt looks over from where he’s attaching his bag to Roach. “Hmm?”

Jaskier yawns. “You’re not planning on meeting any mages today, are you?”

He’s pulled himself upright before Geralt replies with a frown. “We only met Yennefer last week, didn’t know you were eager to meet her again.”

“Very funny,” Jaskier grumbles, and takes that as a ‘no’. 

But Jaskier cares deeply for who and what he loves and he doesn’t stop thinking about a potential curse for their whole journey, so much so that even Roach nudges him at one point as if to ask why he isn’t singing. 

“I am merely saving my voice for an audience more willing to sing along, dear girl!” 

Geralt glares at him. 

“I’m just saying, Geralt, you could perhaps give me some kind of feedback that involves words every once in a while.”

He grins as Geralt rolls his eyes. “Because you were using so many words in that last town?”

Jaskier’s face flushes and he scoffs indignantly. “I could hardly deny the girl one dance, what sort of bard would that make me?”

“One that doesn’t disappear all night,” Geralt grumbles. 

Jaskier frowns. “But I didn’t… wait, is that what I’m going to do today?”

But Geralt doesn’t reply, not even when they get to a town. The two of them part ways, Geralt finding the Lady who’d asked for their service and Jaskier arranging to play at the inn for the afternoon. 

By the time Geralt returns, Jaskier is just a little more than tired, wanting nothing more than to sink into a bed for the night. But the innkeeper’s nose wrinkles and he curses at the sight of Geralt so Jaskier just sighs before walking over.

“You didn’t say you were travelling with the-”

“I’d advise you not to finish that sentence,” Jaskier interjects, raising an eyebrow even as he realises this kind of cursing is most likely what Destiny was trying to tell him about.

Geralt scoffs. “Jaskier, I thought you were singing.” 

The innkeeper raises an eyebrow. “You’d need to do a lot more singing if you want me to accept this.”

Jaskier wants to complain that he’s far too tired to keep performing but Geralt’s words from earlier spring into his mind and, well, if he had predicted Jaskier needing to sing all night, he’s hardly going to challenge that. 

So he just grins and picks up the nearest drink, taking a large gulp. “It’s a good job I was only just getting started then, isn’t it?”

The innkeeper grumbles under his breath but Jaskier focuses on Geralt instead, watching as he sighs. “Really, Jaskier? We couldn’t just rest for one night?”

Jaskier winces because he wants nothing more than to do just that. “I’m sorry, my dear witcher. I’ll try and join you later, don’t want to deny Destiny now, do we?”

“What does Destiny have to do with this?” Geralt asks, but lets Jaskier usher him upstairs anyway. 

Once he’s gone, Jaskier sighs. He’s played for longer in competitions and all he was trying to do was win in those so now when the respect of his soulmate is on the line, there’s no reason he can’t play. So he does. Almost all night. It’s tiring and his throat is most definitely not happy with the sheer amount of singing he does but he survives and it feels great to see the resigned look on the innkeeper’s face as he takes his share of the night’s coin.

“I can’t feel my feet, Geralt,” Jaskier moans as he stumbles back into their room just before dawn.

Geralt hums. “You can stay here for today then, it’s just a drowner.” 

Jaskier might ordinarily have complained but he hasn’t been told his soulmate is going to die or anything so he just nods, throwing himself onto the bed. 

“Don’t, uh… get chased by a goat?” Jaskier mumbles, because apparently that’s on the agenda of his soulmate for the day, even though he doesn’t remember seeing any houses with goats on their way into the town. Then again, it's not like he was paying much attention.

Geralt frowns at him. “Are you drunk?”

Scoffing, Jaskier shakes his head. “I’m going to have such a good sleep that my children will feel well-rested.”

He doesn’t exactly hear what Geralt says but he assumes it’s a warning not to get into trouble so he just smiles and lets his eyes close. It’s not that he’s ungrateful or anything, but Geralt really could have warned him a little better; just a little more preparation couldn't have hurt.

But then he frowns at himself because he’s not ungrateful, he’s really not. He’s lucky to have known what he was meant to do and he’s lucky to know that he can now rest and look forward to Geralt arriving with his payment so they can leave.

Yes, he's definitely lucky.

And he’s also tired but luckily for him, he’d earned enough last night to sleep through the whole day and really, he has to consider that as proof of Destiny knowing what she’s doing as well as another reason to stop overthinking so, knowing that it was practically meant to be, he lets himself fall asleep.

_(little did he know he'd never actually seen proof of his destiny.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to make up for this chaos, just imagine eskel somewhere out there being chased by lil bleater ;)
> 
> thanks for reading !! toss a kudos/comment? x


	4. heterochromia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik it's been ages but i thought i should update this since it's now part of a trope jar series we're doing on discord - definitely check out the other works / authors involved bc everyone is so talented <3<3  
> without further ado, back to making a mess of destiny...

The heterochromia is entirely unexpected.

Jaskier hadn’t heard a lot about it whilst growing up and it was rarely mentioned in any of the numerous books he’d read in various different libraries. And that’s not to say it was wholly unknown to him - he is a bard, after all - but he hadn’t been expecting to experience it. 

He doesn’t even realise he is experiencing it until the hostler gives him a weird look.

“Do you need something from me?” Jaskier asks, winking.

The man opens his mouth, closes it, and then shakes his head. “Your eyes…” he replies, but turns away before Jaskier can flirt with him again. 

Jaskier frowns at him, stupidly wasting a few moments to try and look at his own eyes before realising he can’t do that without losing his sight entirely. “Geralt!” 

Geralt doesn’t reply before Jaskier settles at the corner they’ve chosen inside the inn, at which point he raises an eyebrow, continuing to eat. “Jaskier?”

“What’s wrong with my eyes?” Jaskier asks, not caring that they have a very small audience because of his mildly dramatic entrance. When Geralt finally looks up, both of them freeze, staring at one another in shock. 

Oh.

It seems Geralt’s eyes have finally decided to hint at the identity of his soulmate and, judging by the witcher’s startled expression, Jaskier’s eyes must be doing the same.

“Are you sure you still don’t believe in Destiny?” Jaskier asks weakly, deciding that he really doesn’t want to be entirely sober after this rather strange turn of events, moving his attention over to his tankard.

Geralt hums dismissively, but stands before Jaskier can ask anything else. “I’m need to go hunting.” 

Jaskier frowns at him. “Geralt, dear, we have a room and an innkeeper who’s more than willing to provide us another meal free of cost before we leave tomorrow. Whatever do you need to hunt for?”

Geralt doesn’t reply, turning to look directly at Jaskier for just a moment, his gaze rapidly flickering between his eyes before he shakes his head. “I’ll see you in the morning, Jaskier.”

He’s too busy staring at Geralt’s eyes to think of an adequate response in time, his brain finally catching up when Geralt is halfway out of the door. He sighs, finishing the ale before letting his head fall onto the table as he takes a few deep breaths.

Exactly two minutes later, he brushes away his confusion and slips out of the inn. 

The local mage’s house isn’t particularly difficult to find and he’s just about sober enough not to make an utter fool of himself on the way there so she lets him in with little argument, raising an eyebrow when she sees his eyes. “I can’t change your Destiny,” she tells him immediately. 

Jaskier shakes his head. “Nor would I ask you to do so, of course. I only wish to ask whether you know why our eyes would only change colour now as opposed to the many years we’ve spent together?”

She sighs, gesturing for him to sit down and doing the same once he’s settled. “There are certain points on the continent where the enchantments of Destiny are inexplicably stronger, more likely to try and intervene with the paths we should take..” 

He isn’t foolish enough to argue with a mage about chaos but he doesn’t quite understand her theory. “But I’ve already found my soulmate, why would I…?”

There’s something odd in her expression when she gently cups his face in her hand and moves each side of his face into the light cast through the window beside them. “I can’t tell you that. It shouldn’t affect either of you so suddenly if you’ve already found and accepted one another.”

Jaskier wants to argue again but he thinks back to Geralt’s behaviour and abruptly, it seems to make more sense because, yes, they’ve found one another but they may not have done the latter. The shock meant he hadn’t been paying a lot of attention back at the inn but he’s pretty sure Geralt’s other eye had been blue so clearly the only problem here is his stubborn refusal to admit his destined path might have been right after all. 

He grins, taking the mage’s hand and planting a soft kiss on her fingers. “Thank you for the information, I think I understand now. Do you require payment?”

She glances over him before shaking her head. Regardless, he decides he’s going to do something for her anyway. “Well, I shall spin you a lovely tune and make sure everyone in this town knows exactly how beautiful and helpful you are.” 

Laughing, she stands and waves the door open. “Good luck.” 

Jaskier grins again, giddy from both the alcohol and the information. “I don’t need it but thank you! “

It’s dark by the time he gets back, promising the innkeeper he’ll be up early in the morning to rouse the early crowd before making his way upstairs. To his surprise, he finds Geralt waiting for him.

“Geralt? Weren’t you hunting?” he asks, placing his hands on his hips.

Geralt sighs and, even in the dim light, Jaskier can tell he’s practically frowning hard enough to hurt himself. He makes his way over to the bed, sitting beside him and gently running his fingers along Geralt’s forehead, forcing him to relax. 

“I’m sorry, Jaskier, I…”

“I know. You don’t like Destiny, I know that. But I can assure you it doesn’t mean anything serious, it’s just this town and its inexplicable geographical link to chaos.” 

“How do you know that?” Geralt asks, then wrinkles his nose. “You went to the mage.” 

Jaskier huffs. “Well, of course I did. It’s not like anyone else was going to try and tell me having one yellow eye while we’re here is absolutely normal, was it?” 

Geralt snorts, pulling him closer. Jaskier melts into his touch, placing his hands on either side of Geralt’s face. One of his eyes is ever so slightly glowing, as one of his own must be, but the other is more ordinary and although Jaskier can’t quite make it out anymore, he’s certain it’s blue like his own.

He smiles at the thought and although they’re leaving town as early as possible, he’s glad they’d at least stopped for a small break. And hey, maybe Geralt will be more likely to accept everything he keeps saying after this blatant display of evidence; maybe they can finally both admit that he’s right about them being soulmates after all.

_ (little did he know he couldn’t be more wrong.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now i know what you're thinking: how can they possibly be THIS blind to reality ?? and tbh i have the same question but unfortunately, we're not even halfway through the obliviousness so buckle up,,,
> 
> thanks for reading !! toss a kudos/comment? x


	5. soulmate's lies on your skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm procrastinating everything else in life and thought it was about time i made our bard's life more chaotic so on we go...

Geralt is the most honest man Jaskier knows.

And Jaskier knows this because he can tell if Geralt lies.

He hadn’t even realised that was what kept happening every time random sentences spontaneously appeared and disappeared on his skin, especially when he was younger, but it became crystal clear when he was old enough to recognise that the phrases were obviously all wrong. 

His siblings would often tease him for having a soulmate who lied so rarely or about such strange things and often, he’d wished he could share their amusement in knowing their soulmates lied about ordinary things or share their relief in knowing their soulmates were ordinary and acceptable and nothing that warranted ridicule.

And then he’d gotten over seeking the ordinary and instead spent years wondering what the actual asking price for a bruxa contract was because apparently Geralt had kept lying about it. And not only that but a wide range of things like  _ witchers don’t feel such emotions  _ or  _ yes this ale tastes great  _ or every so often, something absolutely awful like  _ you’re going to be just fine. _

Knowing that someone is telling the truth almost all the time makes it a lot easier to trust them so, even early on in their travels, it had never been difficult for Jaskier to confidently say he trusts Geralt with his life.

“Geralt, are you listening to me?” Jaskier asks one evening as they drop their belongings on either side of the inn room they’d been given.

Geralt only hums in response.

“Yes yes, I know you have enhanced hearing and couldn’t help listening if you tried but I do need a second opinion so come on, tell me what you thought of that last verse with the warg?”

After a small pause, Geralt rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t bad-”

Jaskier beams at him.

“-aside from the melodrama.”

Waving a hand, Jaskier flops onto the floor beside his bag, fishing out his notebook and a quill. “Nobody wants to hear about emotionless bloodshed.”

“Maybe it’s just you they don’t want to hear,” Geralt replies with a small smirk. For a second, Jaskier panics at the lack of premonition about his soulmate lying, but then he catches Geralt’s expression and figures that sarcasm is exempt.

“Why, how dare you!” Jaskier exclaims, barely resisting the urge to throw his notebook at the witcher. “Need I remind you that we are tossed coins in almost every town specifically because the people wanted to hear me!”

“I need a drink,” Geralt replies.

Jaskier waves a hand again. “Bring me back one too, would you?”

Geralt pauses at the door. “You’re not performing?”

He shakes his head, already rewriting the succubus verse to be just a touch less melodramatic and a little more plausible. “I’ll make up for it in the morning, Maya said that’d be fine.”

“Who?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier blinks at him. “Really, Geralt? The innkeeper who we talked to moments ago? Maybe you do need that drink!” 

He doesn’t actually know how long it takes Geralt to get the drink but by the time he comes back, Jaskier is having to squint at the page because the sun had rudely decided to set before he could finish. 

“Jaskier, I’ll leave without you if you stay up and complain in the morning,” Geralt says in place of a greeting as he locks the door behind him.

“No you won’t,” Jaskier mumbles back.

“Oh, really?” Geralt asks, then crouches in front of him and holds out a tankard.

Jaskier takes it gratefully before nodding and looking up. “You are a softie, Geralt of Rivia, and you have long since stopped trying to leave me behind,” he declares as if he’s not secretly very worried every time the words don’t appear on his skin - he’s almost certain teasing is also exempt.

Regardless, he finishes the drink and only one more verse before retiring for the night.

He wakes with the uncanny notion that his soulmate is lying and when he blinks his eyes open to glance at his arm under the moonlight, he stares at the words  _ ‘it definitely wasn’t a succubus’ _ with confusion until they disappear.

Then, for a horrible moment, he thinks that Geralt has left him to go seek a contract somewhere else in the middle of the night like he’d threatened to. But then he throws an arm out and finds Geralt still asleep next to him, sighing in relief as he lets his head drop back down onto the pillow, concluding that perhaps he’s just having some sort of strange dream.

It’s not unexpected when Geralt denies it the next morning, snorting in amusement.

“I’m not the one who dreamt of a succubus, Geralt, I don’t know why you bother to deny it,” Jaskier grumbles, “and anyway, it’s not the worst dream one could have. You really do need to tell me more about succubi though, I don’t think I’ve written a song about them yet.”

“I’ve never killed one,” Geralt replies as they both get dressed.

Jaskier frowns at the impossibility of that statement for a moment but then realises what he actually means. “Just because you have too much of a heart to kill every creature you come across doesn’t mean I can’t write about them anyway!”

Geralt only hums in response and the two of them make their way down the stairs so Jaskier can perform and prevent them from being kicked out. It doesn’t take long to earn enough coin for that even with the more sparse morning crowd so he’s back by Geralt’s side at their table before he’s even really that hungry. 

“Thought you’d never stop,” Geralt says with another smirk.

Jaskier huffs, elbowing him to grab some cheese off his plate. “You liked it really, my dear, I know you did.” 

A maid comes over to their table with another drink for Jaskier before they can say much more, smiling shyly as he beams at her. “Why hello, beautiful! Thank you for this-” he takes a small sip of the rather mediocre ale- “wonderful drink!”

“You really think it’s wonderful?” she asks, her eyes shining as if she’d made it herself. Which, when he thinks about it, she probably has. Oh dear.

He turns to warn Geralt not to say anything bad since witchers have their own specific taste in ale that is most definitely leagues above this one but to his surprise, Geralt only smiles at her. “I agree, it’s wonderful.”

Jaskier glances at his wrists instinctively, biting his lip when nothing appears. That same unsettling fear roots inside his heart again until he looks up at the girl who’s blushing furiously and stumbling over her words of gratitude and abruptly, he’s fearless once again; small, polite white lies must also be exempt.

He chides himself for even daring to think badly of Destiny and smiles once again at the girl before she slips back into the kitchens, merely shrugging when Geralt asks him why he has a funny expression on his face and stealing more cheese off his plate in response, content.

_ (little did he know that exemptions don’t exist.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's avoid questioning jaskier's obliviousness and focus on eskel and that succubus instead :)
> 
> thanks for reading !! toss a kudos/comment?


	6. matching scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of course my first witcher-related writing of the year is jaskier being a lovesick fool, of course it is...

Jaskier grew up clumsy. 

He was careless in his adventures and thoughtless in his quests and he very rarely stopped to try and avoid landing himself in danger.

And yet, he seemed to have luck on his side. For all the mess he made and clothes he ripped, he very rarely broke skin or bled. If he did, it was only ever superficial, small grazes or cuts that healed before he could get in much trouble for displaying them - the bruises he gained were rarely even noticed by his parents for the maids would cover them up with longer sleeves or darker fabric colours in fear of punishment. 

Unfortunately, luck could do very little in the face of Destiny. 

It didn’t take long for someone to notice the faint lines that shone on his skin, seemingly under his skin really, where there was no reason for him to have scars. It didn’t take long at all, for infants rarely wielded the weapons needed to create even one wound, never mind the sheer amount that Jaskier seemed to wear right from when he was born.

“Oh, you poor dear,” a healer murmurs as she looks over the silvery marks on Jaskier’s back. He’s none the wiser, babbling at her with a grin on his tiny face and a sparkle in his eyes.

A sparkle that his mother’s eyes do not share as she frowns down at her child. “What’s wrong with him?”

The healer, Ania, shakes her head as she lets Jaskier, who is still Julian, curl his fingers around her thumb. “Nothing. He is destined to someone with a dangerous profession, that’s all.”

His mother just sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Years later, she’s doing the same thing, an older but still young Julian perched on his bed as the same healer cups his face in her hand, frowning at the silvery ghosts of scars running all the way down one side of his face.

“Do you have to make them go away? They look so beautiful!” Julian protests as a potion is placed in his hands.

His mother glares at him. “We cannot have an heir running around the place with imperfections, Julian!”

Ania winces at her words but says nothing as Julian folds his arms. He looks up at her with hope in his oddly bright eyes. “Please don’t make me! I like them,” he whispers, desperate. 

“Julian, enough! You will drink the potion and I won’t hear another word from you!” His mother orders, waiting until Julian swallows down said potion before leaving the room, ignoring the way his shoulders slump in bitter resignation.

“I’m sorry,” Ania murmurs, “but it’s best not to argue with your parents on this.” 

“I hate them,” Julian mutters angrily, his chin wobbling. “I hate them and I don’t want to pretend I don’t have an other half!” 

Ania brushes a tear from his eye and offers him a smile. “They’re not totally gone, you know. There are no ingredients that can hide Destiny away forever.”

Julian bites his lip, eventually frowning as he registers her words. “You’re helping me?”

She winks. “I might be knowledgeable but even I can’t heal what hasn’t been broken.”

But Julian shakes his head, sliding off the bed and making his way to the door, but not before turning back to look at her again. “I’m im- imperfect, of course I’m broken. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Ania’s heart breaks for this child who should be excited about his destiny but is instead worried that he needs to be fixed in order to please his family, a family that he hates. She wants to tell him that his marks are normal but even she can’t deny that they’re not and she finds herself lacking the right words.

“Thank you,” Julian whispers, neither of them quite sure what he’s meant to be grateful for when it’s clear he’s decided she’s not helping him after all, before he leaves and she’s left in his empty room with an empty vial.

Decades later, Jaskier is once again thanking a healer, a different one in a different town and not for himself this time but on behalf of Geralt, who doesn’t always use his words at the best of times, never mind after nearly dying at the hands of a basilisk.

“That one’s going to scar, I’m afraid,” the healer tells him.

Jaskier just smiles. “That’s okay, better a scarred muse than no muse at all.” 

The healer laughs, shaking his head in amusement before handing Jaskier a salve. “I know you said he heals fast but he’ll need more of this applied to the wound before you leave. You’re welcome to rest here but I’m needed elsewhere.”

Glancing over Geralt with a small smile, Jaskier takes the salve. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you. We won’t forget it, I swear.”

The healer nods in satisfaction and once he’s gone, Jaskier hesitates only a moment before walking over to the mirror and turning his back to it, craning his neck so he can inspect his skin and not exactly surprised when there’s nothing to match where Geralt’s wound was. To be fair though, there’s really nothing at all on his skin. 

He sighs, settling into one of the chairs beside Geralt’s bed and letting his head fall into his hands. 

It’s not that he doesn’t remember Geralt reluctantly telling him about the witcher trials and how they interfere with anything magic-related as a way to stop him from asking after the scars Jaskier often seems to be missing, the problem is that he also remembers the Pankratz family healer telling him how there are no ingredients that can hide destiny away forever. 

“I guess you were wrong, Ania, because it’s been forever and here I am with only my own scars to show,” Jaskier mutters to himself, sighing. 

He misses the patterns on his skin that he’d trace in the dead of night, staying awake so he could marvel at them under the light of the moon; he misses making up all sorts of impossible stories about what his other half is doing to end up with such wounds at all; and he misses knowing that even though his soulmate might be injured, they’re still alive and out there, with him vicariously adventuring through the scars they share.

Just as he’s wishing he could remember exactly where all the silvery marks he used to have were, Geralt stirs and Jaskier’s head snaps up, only to drop back down when he sees the witcher is still asleep, just getting comfortable. 

“I probably shouldn’t spend all night thinking about Destiny when you’re going to suggest travelling as soon as you’re awake,” Jaskier sighs, not caring that Geralt couldn’t listen even if he wanted to, unconscious as he is.

After a moment, he leans against the wall behind him and curls up on the chair, letting his eyes travel over the scars of Geralt’s that he can see and sleepily tracing where they would be on his own skin, smiling at the thought of another lifetime in which he can see the marks they share instead of having lost the chance to match with his other half due to mutations and magic and messy childhoods. 

_(little did he know he was yet to find that chance in the first place.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually adore this trope so writing it was both fun and immensely frustrating but hey, we're halfway though jaskier's obliviousness now so yay for that :)


	7. soulmate's deathdate on your wrist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is technically cheating because i don't vibe with mortal jaskier but like, humour me?

Anyone with magic was usually immortal. 

That was common knowledge really, to anyone who’d ever hired mages and witchers or anyone who’d heard the stories of their battles and reputation. Unfortunately, where most townsfolk might marvel at an extended lifespan, nobles tended to frown upon it; nobles tended to see it as something unnatural and therefore unwanted, as something that should be feared or frowned upon, as something that made magic-users even less human and not at all desirable.

Nobles like Jaskier’s family.

Jaskier grew up with the knowledge that living forever would be awful because it meant you were inhuman, it meant you were monstrous and existing against nature, it meant you weren’t the perfect picture of nobility that you should be. And unfortunately, being linked to someone who was going to live forever made you the same just by association. 

At first, he hated it. 

He hated the little ouroboros symbol etched into his wrist.

But just like the heartbeat he eventually grew to love under his skin, he eventually accepted that the symbol over his skin simply meant his soulmate would probably outlive him. He was happy with it, in fact, because he’d never want to have to bury and outlive someone he loves, and despite all the taunts from his siblings that he’d probably be forgotten as soon as he passed, he didn’t mind it too much.

Yes, he threw himself into perfecting his songs because the idea of being wholly lost to time absolutely terrified him, but he was fine - totally fine.

And then he met Geralt, who always wore armour until he didn’t, until Jaskier dumped water on his head in bathtub after bathtub, catching sight of a similar ouroboros on his wrist every so often. A familiar ouroboros that meant Geralt's soulmate was also not just human, that meant Jaskier was also destined to live until he was killed.

At first, he thought he was wrong. He thought that he’d just been seeing things or that somehow Destiny had gotten things mixed up, for he was a noble and he couldn’t possibly be immortal. 

-

“Jaskier, you’re alive,” Geralt says with something like shock in his voice.

Said bard nods, sitting up on the healer’s bed. “Wouldn’t be very interesting to die at the hands of a small cliff,” he jokes.

Geralt hums, then in a rare moment of unfiltered humour, smirks. “Lucky the cliff wasn’t the same size as your stupidity, then.”

Jaskier splutters, flushing red, and chucks a pillow at Geralt. “Excuse you, I was trying to help!”

Gently tossing the pillow back, Geralt shakes his head. “It was a stupid distraction.” 

But Jaskier can read between the lines and since he’s only been halfway unconscious when Geralt had carried him all the way back on foot because he’d forgotten about Roach in his concern, he doesn’t take offence, simply glad to still be alive.

-

“Most humans would have died from this,” Geralt tells him after having pulled an arrow out of his leg that’d only been there because he’d annoyed the wrong person.

Jaskier blinks. “Was that an insult or a compliment? I’ve lost too much blood to decipher your tone.”

With a soft laugh, Geralt finishes making sure he won’t actually bleed out before sitting back and shrugging. “You can choose.”

“Can’t you express your gratitude for your very best friend in any other circumstance, Geralt?” Jaskier asks incredulously, his brain too tired to even decide if he wants to stay awake or not.

Geralt only frowns, clearly wondering how he’s meant to do that, and for a second, Jaskier wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of his witcher being confused about the etiquette of conversation. He doesn’t though, he only takes Geralt’s hand and squeezes tightly, both as a reassuring gesture and because he’s in a rather large amount of pain.

-

“Loving the wrinkles, bard,” Yennefer drawls.

Jaskier rolls his eyes at her abrupt reappearance, not even looking up from his songbook. “Likewise, my dear witch.”

Geralt intervenes before either of them can go any further. “Neither of you have wrinkles?”

Yennefer and Jaskier share an exasperated look before the bard goes back to rearranging verses and the sorceress turns to Geralt with a sigh because it’s her turn to explain things to their somewhat clueless mutual friend. “Don’t take everything so literally, Geralt.”

“How else am I meant to take it?” Geralt asks, but the other two take it to be rhetorical, with Yennefer switching to discussing something about their latest contract.

Not bothered about the creature they’re discussing, Jaskier pauses only for a moment to ponder the exchange because in truth, he really ought to have wrinkles at his age, but he doesn’t dwell on it because the tale of the wyverns he’s weaving is far more compelling. 

-

“Jaskier!” Geralt yells moments before tackling him.

Jaskier groans as the two of them land on the uneven ground, something flying over their bodies as they do, but doesn’t get much time to register any pain before Geralt is pulling him upright, tugging him along until both of them are out of range of whatever it is they’re under attack from. It’s only when they stop running that Jaskier realises the sharp pain in his chest isn’t just breathlessness. 

“Geralt! Geralt- can’t... breathe…” he manages before the world fades to nothing. 

When the void fades back into awareness, he’s met with the all too familiar sensation of bandages wrapped around his torso and the sight of Geralt’s puzzled face hovering above him. 

He blinks. “Am I dead?”

Geralt blinks back at him, then scowls. “Apparently not.” 

Jaskier makes a face, scrunching his nose up and furrowing his brows. “No need to sound so disappointed. You’re the one who saved me and it gets a little confusing when you look like you regret it every time.” 

At that, Geralt’s expression softens. “No, I don’t regret it. I, uh- you broke a few ribs. I thought…”

“You thought I wouldn’t make it? I’m sorry,” Jaskier murmurs, then cracks a smile. “Foolish of you to assume you’d be free of me so easily.”

Thankfully, Geralt smiles back - it’s small, barely a curve of his lips, but it’s a smile nonetheless - and nudges him carefully. “Not being free of you isn’t so bad.”

Jaskier positively beams at him.

-

Eventually, he just accepts the small ouroboros on Geralt’s wrist. 

He figures that, as many nobles are prone to doing, someone had lied about sleeping with someone else at some point along his lineage. And he silently thanks whoever it was for being too concerned with upholding their honourable reputation to tell the truth every time he makes it out of situations where he’s readily informed he’s lucky to be alive.

Geralt’s ouroboros is slightly different to his, sleeker and longer, but he doesn’t worry about it, knowing it’s probably related to how and why the two of them have longer lifespans than the average human. He’s perfectly happy just knowing that he can literally spend the the kind of forever that he writes so many balled about with his soulmate because the length of their lives match almost perfectly. 

_(little did he know his matching forever was still unknown to him.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik it's chaotic but you gotta admit the trope is perfect for confusion,,, also, it's an ouroboros because the mathematical infinity was coined late 17th century and that's just too far off to claim artistic license in historical inaccuracy ¬_¬


	8. daily sentences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i wasn't entirely sure about the logistics of this trope but i used it so that every day, you hear one random sentence your soulmate says as they're saying it and it gets stuck in your head.

Jaskier talked enough for the both of them.

For the both of him and his soulmate, that is.

He’d always been a loud child and no amount of disciplining could change that about him but it took many a year for him to ever feel bad about it.

“Julian, stop talking nonsense, you’re going to make your other half hate you!” his sister says not for the first time and not for the last time when he tries telling her about different instruments for the third time that week.

“But maybe they like music too?” Julian, too young to be deterred by the annoyance in her tone, argues.

His sister rolls her eyes. “They only get one sentence, it won’t make sense to them.” 

Julian’s face falls as he considers this; he hadn’t meant to confuse the person who’s supposed to love him and he’d hate for them to stop loving him for the same reason everyone else seems to, especially if it’s before they even meet.

His sister takes his worrying as an opportunity to leave and by the time he looks up again, tears glistening in his eyes, he’s in a room as empty as his previous excitement.

-

“What if I only said one sentence a day?” Julian asks the gardener he’s taken to following because as long as he helps with the weeds, he can talk as much as he wants.

The gardener raises an eyebrow at him. “That sounds awfully difficult, Julian.”

But Julian just shakes his head. “I could tell them where we are! And they could come find me! Oh, I have to try!”

The gardener sighs, resisting the urge to remind Julian that his soulmate is probably not going to be welcome in Lettenhove given the heartbeat and scars he’s sporting, and slowly nods. “What are you going to tell your tutors?”

Julian frowns, spinning a small flower in his hands. “I’ll pretend I’m ill, they always leave me alone when I’m ill! Does pretend coughing count as a sentence?”

“I don’t think so,” the gardener replies, not wanting to dampen the child’s spirits any more than he has to. He doesn’t see Julian again for a week and just as he’s starting to feel uneasy about the absence of chatter on his rounds, the boy returns with a glum expression. 

“It didn’t work?” he asks gently. 

“Being quiet is useless,” Julian declares angrily, and neither of them say any more on the matter.

-

“You’re not him,” Valleria says bitterly one morning.

Jaskier looks over at her and frowns. “Who?”

“You’re not my soulmate,” she clarifies.

Jaskier just frowns, looking over her in case she’s injured because they both knew that very well before they bought a room last night and he has no idea why she’s bringing it up when they specifically agreed not to.

Valleria sighs. “This has been fun, really, but he said something about Lyria and I-”

“You were thinking about him while we-” Jaskier cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment to try and avoid saying something he’ll regret.

“I’m sorry but he hasn’t mentioned a place before and I have to go!” Valleria sounds like she’s asking him more than she’s telling him and he doesn’t have the heart to stop her because he’d do the exact same.

He leans over and places a small kiss on her cheek. “Write me if you find him, won’t you?”

“You’ll be first to know,” she promises.

Jaskier half wants to try telling his soulmate where he is again but now that he’s older and less naive, he knows there’s a witcher out there waiting for him who won’t abandon their path for his sake so there’s really no point trying. 

-

“Have they said anything today?” Priscilla asks quietly.

Jaskier jumps, relaxing when he sees it’s only her and shaking his head as he stares at the darkening horizon. “No, must be another one of the quiet days.”

Priscilla hums as she settles on the roof beside him, elbowing him to make room for her. “Just your luck to be destined for someone who barely speaks. It’s actually very funny, you know.”

Scoffing, Jaskier turns to her. “And you?”

“They declared their love for soup right in the middle of my set. A total nuisance, if you ask me, almost sang about tomatoes instead of romance,” she grumbles, neither of them pointing out the fact that she’s probably going to eat nothing but soup for at least a week.

“Well, here’s to nuisances,” Jaskier laughs, but he doesn’t have anything to toast so he just throws his arms out, almost slapping Priscilla in the process.

She glares at him but nods, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “Here’s to the nuisances we’re destined for.”

-

“Geralt! My dear witcher, how have you been?” Jaskier asks as they reunite one spring.

Geralt waits until Jaskier lets go of him before smiling. “Could be worse.”

Jaskier just rolls his eyes. “You are incorrigible. A whole winter apart and that’s all you have to say? You are aware I’m a bard, yes?”

They’ve started walking by the time Geralt hums in acknowledgement. “I could almost imagine you talking my ears off the whole time.”

Only very mildly offended by such things at this point, Jaskier just laughs. “What, one sentence a day wasn’t enough to satisfy you?”

“It was quiet, sometimes,” Geralt replies slowly, almost like he’s not entirely sure what he means.

To be honest, Jaskier doesn’t either. Though he had spent several days ridiculously drunk and several more in a creative daze so perhaps those are what Geralt is referring to - maybe he doesn’t talk to himself nearly as much as he thinks he does.

“As were you, Geralt, so we can call it even! Now, are you going to tell me anything interesting or is this going to be just like last year?”

Geralt nudges him playfully but does start telling him about a harpy they’d hunted so Jaskier doesn’t complain, simply smiles and drinks in each one of Geralt’s words, silently fashioning them into lyrics as they walk because he doesn’t want to miss out on a single one of his soulmate’s words.

_ (little did he know he’d yet to hear any of them.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes the time skip structure is a little disjointed but idk how else to portray it, things are getting pretty messy for poor jaskier and the sheer amount of Destiny he's misinterpreting :p


	9. shared emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *draco voice* did someone say mutual stupidity--

Witchers don’t experience emotions.

Except that they actually do, and sometimes they get two sets of them, the second of which stems from their soulmate. As Jaskier would say, their very loving soulmate who has more than enough feelings to share, don’t you worry. 

But Jaskier himself worries quite often because his soulmate rarely feels the same way he did. 

He remembers being excited about learning how to write his own name and then being alarmed at the sudden burst of guilt at the back of his mind. He didn’t know it was only the back of his mind, though, so he spent the rest of the day trying to remember what he was supposed to be guilty about.

He remembers being annoyed about having to stay in his room because he was too loud and then being confused by an immense flood of relief. He still hadn’t realised that it wasn’t his own, though, so he spent a very long night wondering if being away from their guests was actually a good thing.

He remembers being upset about the girl who told him his dreams were useless and then being hit with more disappointment than he’d ever felt before. He still wasn’t sure whether that belonged to him, though, so he spent a week writing a ballad to try and figure everything out.

And then he went to Oxenfurt and learnt about the concept of secondary emotions and everything made just a little more sense because of course the slow heartbeat and suspicious lies and strange visions would be paired with shared feelings, of course they would.

He’s more than prepared by the time he saunters over to a witcher in Posada. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says softly as Geralt returns from a contract with blood practically oozing from his clothes.

Geralt only grunts in reply but Jaskier knows from experience that witchers blame themselves when things go wrong so he just adds some mildly lavender-scented salt to the bath and rolls up his sleeves.  It’s not clear to what extent he manages to help but he doesn’t feel any kind of guilt once they settle for the night, his own or otherwise, so he takes it as a win and neither of them mention it again.

“What’s this for?” he asks when Geralt hands him a brand new pot of ink as soon they get back to their room.

Geralt shrugs. “I thought you were sad.” 

Jaskier’s not sure when exactly he was sad - he was under the assumption he was having a brilliant day, to be honest - but the fact that Geralt cares enough to try and help warms his heart so he just wraps his arms around the witcher and grins.

“I knew you cared! Thank you, my dear!” 

“Don’t waste it this time,” Geralt says, but he’s smiling so Jaskier just beams at him and makes no promises to throw it at someone’s head if the situation once again calls for it.

The situation does call for it a week later when he looks up from his desk to find a dagger held just in front of his neck and the only thing he has nearby is the inkpot, which he smashes at the other man’s head so hard it shatters over him.

Cursing, the man drops his dagger and stumbles backwards into Geralt, who seems to have appeared out of thin air. 

“Oh hello, Geralt I was just uh, greeting whoever this is,” Jaskier says happily, wiping the ink from his face where some of it had splashed. 

Geralt frowns, glancing between the two of them and throwing the stranger out of their room before looking over Jaskier as if trying to find something. “You don’t look very angry.”

Jaskier blinks. “Should I be? I mean, aside from the fact that I was forced to waste ink on a fool who doesn’t even know how to hold a dagger properly in the middle of composing a very important song? Actually, now that you mention it, I think I am filled with rage.”

“We can find more ink,” Geralt says, shaking his head either in amusement or exasperation, Jaskier can’t really tell. Either way, the matter is resolved simply enough. 

Except that it’s not, because Jaskier keeps messing up.

“What are you so happy about?” he asks during a break in his set.

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him as if to ask why in the name of Nenneke he would be happy in a court but Jaskier grins because literally being able to feel his soulmate’s emotions means he knows better than to take Geralt at face value.

“Come on, it’s not that bad! And you have the pleasure of listening to the greatest bard on the continent!” 

“I’ve heard you sing these songs for months,” Geralt reminds him.

Jaskier shrugs. “Say what you will, Geralt, but I know you’re secretly pleased with the way things are turning out!” 

With a sigh, Geralt glances around. “I guess it could be worse.”

That seems like an understatement; there are very few things that could make the evening better. Jaskier watches Geralt frown for a minute before nodding as if he agrees, inwardly making a note not to project too much of his own emotion in future.

He’s not particularly good at that, as is proven when he does the exact same thing at the next court they play in, only this time the other way around.

“We can leave now, I can tell you want to,” Jaskier whispers as he flops down into the seat opposite Geralt.

“The wine is good here,” Geralt says simply.

Jaskier blinks, wondering how he’s doing such a good job of hiding the irritation Jaskier knows he’s feeling. “As much as I appreciate your stoic patience, you really don’t have to pretend for my sake.”

Geralt snorts in amusement. “Go back to your singing, Jaskier, or whichever guest it is whose bed you’re chasing tonight.”

“I- You- Which what?” Jaskier splutters, almost dropping his lute. 

He wants to protest that there’s only bed he’d want to end up in at the end of the night but the knowing look Geralt gives him stops the words before they leave his mouth. A small smirk is all he can manage before he slips through the crowd again, trusting that as his soulmate, Geralt knows him well enough by now and from the looks of it, better than he knows himself. 

_ (little did he know his trust was entirely misplaced.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is really hard not to make geralt seem like an antagonist at this point but i promise he is trying his best and is definitely not to blame for jaskier's mess of a self !!


End file.
